


Ignorance

by CynicalRainbows



Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Functional illiteracy, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:08:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21592801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynicalRainbows/pseuds/CynicalRainbows
Summary: Forgive the stupid title, I couldn't think of anything.Sixfic for the prompt of Jane struggling with having a low literacy level.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 141





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Laila Liquorice has written a much better fic about this so if you'd like to see it done well, check out her stuff too!
> 
> Also credit to @woulddieforkhoward because I borrowed some of their excellent headcanons for this.

She used to be a bright child. 

(At least, she thought she had been. )

At least, her mother and her governess told her that she was. (Father never did but he didn’t speak to her much, that she remembered when she was young. Or even when she was older, really.)

She remembers studying the letters on her hornbook fervently- not because she cared much for it (the way they slanted made her feel dizzy, and the thick black lines of text made her eyes hurt) but because she was greedy for her governess’s smile of approval, her mother’s hand touching the crown of her head.

_Such a bright girl. Such a good girl._

Writing was more difficult- _how could there be so many shapes for letters to take?_

And yet should she try to guess at how a letter should be formed, she inevitably betrayed herself with a dot or a line in the wrong place. 

But she pressed on: she reminded herself that these were skills she would need one day, and that while there would surely be pleasant parts of managing a household- the satisfaction of settling accounts, like they were a riddle she got to solve all by herself, the way she could make flowers and fruit and animals bloom beneath her pricked fingers- she had to accept that it couldn’t be all fun and frivolity, and also be grateful that she was being taught at all, for how many fathers troubled themselves about such things for girls, even now with the new fashion for learning beginning to spread?

She’d had her reward too- once she’d stuck to it for a few years, she was never much troubled by it again, even when she came to court, that bastion of female learning (although some whisperers said that perhaps both the present and previous Queens would have done better spending less time at their books and more time working at the one female achievement that really mattered….)

She turned her head away from the whisperers as much as she could, without being rude- she’d never much liked gossip. Although she didn’t necessarily think they were wrong either. Not that it mattered, of course. 

She already had the names of her future children decided (even though common sense reminded her that her husband would likely have his own ideas, at least when it came to the naming of their sons, it was pleasant daydream) and no one would ever be able to accuse her of either unwomanly erudition or peasant-like ignorance.

She knew enough- more than some ladies, less than others- and since she had never had much of a desire to stand out, that suited her well. She got by.

But it’s harder in this brighter, harder world.

So many things are written down for one thing- no longer are there hoards of people just waiting to tell her what she needs to know. Now, where she once could have asked someone- for a price, for directions, for a name- and received a courteous, respectful answer, there are simply printed words- the same for everyone, be you peasant or lady. 

Except not for everyone. While everyone else, it seems- no matter their age or their social standing- can read and understand whatever it is (menu or timetable, road name or sign post) with ease....she alone is left to struggle.

Sometimes, it’s merely time consuming, to have to spend five minutes deciphering an unfamiliar word or name while people sweep by on either side of her, striding confidently on after barely even having to glance at it. 

Sometimes though, it’s painful- feeling the eyes of people burning into the back of her head as she tries to stammer an excuse while the cashier (or the driver or the clerk) frown with barely-concealed irritation at her ignorance. 

And whatever the issue is- going to the wrong window, when the sign clearly states that it was closed even though there was a person there, requesting an item when the sign clearly stated it to be out of stock- it weighs upon her for the rest of the day, drags her down, makes her slump in her seat while the other queens sit up straight, makes her sit mute while they laugh and chatter. 

She had always been reserved but never- even during the mortifying days after knowledge of her and the kings dalliance became public knowledge, even during the terrifying first few days as queen- has she hated being looked at as much as she does now.

People see more than she does- that’s the problem. They see meaning where she sees a confusion of lines and curves that only sometimes manifest themselves as recognizable words, they see her stupidity (for she now knows that is what it is) in how she hesitates and twists her hands and stumbles over her words.

It worries her, that they see too much- _who knows what else they can see?_

(Could they see that Kitty had had to write out Heart of Stone for Joan to set to music- that she had delayed and delayed and eventually feigned a megrim when the director’s patience ran out, knowing that soft-hearted Kitty would offer to do it for her? Were they laughing behind their hands, even as they clapped her?)

It makes her want to hide- to draw her curtains and retreat, but of course she can’t. It was- ironically- easier at court. (Taking herself away to pray for a couple of hours in the middle of the day had been seen as devout, once. Now, it’s looked up as mildly eccentric.)

She’s trapped- trapped in the perpetual cycle of confusion and guilt, constantly on her guard. 

It’s exhausting.


	2. Chapter 2

She’s already bone-weary, her head is pounding, she’s counting the minutes until she can excuse herself from the living room to go to bed without looking antisocial, and the hot panic that grips her when Anne thrusts a take away menu into her hands with the demand that she pick something is enough to make sudden tears well up in her eyes.

It isn’t  _ fair, _ she isn’t  _ ready _ , she isn’t  _ prepared _ for this- and it’s especially unjust because she’s gotten (just about) to the point where she’s alright ordering food: for some things, like when they get pizza, she just orders the same thing (margherita, always, because what pizza place doesn't offer a plain pizza), and for others, like restaurants, she will ask for whatever the person before her ordered (she always is careful not to catch the eye of the waitperson when they approach, and she tries not to mind the sinking feeling of having to order something she knows she won’t like). 

This is something she’s worked out but it won’t work now- there’s no reason she can think of to object to going first, and she can’t even guess at something because she doesn’t recognise this menu, it’s somewhere they haven’t ordered from before, and the rich colours and glossy pictures on the cover make it clear that this isn’t a cuisine she’s familiar with (not, honestly, that she’s familiar with much).

Her eyes prickle with the injustice of it (she’s going to be exposed to all of them, just because Anne wants to try something new), the lines of text beetling across the page are suddenly blurry, she’s hot all over with the humiliation of it- she’s an adult woman and she’s brought low by this of all things… 

Anne is raising her eyebrows expectantly, she’s going to have to say something- and then a hand takes the paper from her and Cleve’s is flopping onto the sofa beside her.

‘Boleyn, you know this place is dodgy as fuck, right? Wasn’t it that place they did an article on? Because they were serving horse meat rather than beef?’

‘What the fuck?’

(Cleves inevitably makes up horror stories whenever Anne picks the restaurant, for reasons known only to her, and Anne falls for it, as she always does.)

‘Oh yeah, someone found a pet microchip in their meal once, I saw it online….’

Anne’s expression goes from horrified to just plain annoyed as she realises she’s making it all up.

‘Shut up, Cleves, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Jane, hurry up and order something.’

‘Why are you literally ringing them now, you know Kitty and Parr will take forever to choose?’

‘Because they  _ always _ take ages and I’m hungry now so I've decided to force them into a decision’

Her breathing goes back to normal as she listens to the familiar verbal sparring- Anna and Anne have forgeone the uncomfortable getting-to-know-you silence of the rest of them are stuck at and jumped straight into good humored bickering. It also helps that Anna has taken the decision out of her hands (literally)- they can’t demand anything of her if she can’t actually see the thing.

‘Hey!’

The previously-menu-turned-aeroplane lands in Aragon’s lap and the woman smooths it out on the side of her armchair (claimed on their first day of moving in and as sacred to her as the pallium to the pope).

‘Looks alright to me. But she’s right, Cathy will forever whether you’re on the phone to them or not. And she’s not even downstairs yet and it’s only been…..what, five minutes since I called her? It’ll be another five before she even registers anyone said anything and another ten before she can drag herself away from her work.’

(It’s funny how Catalina can make her goddaughter’s minorly irritating habit of lateness sound like the most endearing trait ever possessed by womankind. Jane thinks she’d probably find the woman more than a little intimidating if it wasn’t for the fact that her secretly soft side is frequently exposed via the aforementioned Cathy.)

The arguing continues- even as Cathy eventually drifts downstairs, as Kitty bursts through the door a minute later with her hair freshly dyed and a used-to-white towel around her shoulders, as Aragon asks if she’s actually checked the floor for dye drips this time and as Kat blushes as pink as her hair and vanishes again.

Jane is tense as they give their orders- none of the names sound familiar at all, she has no idea what any of it is, and she wonders that the rest of them do before she realises they’re reading the descriptions below the headings. But there is no way she’s going to let them see her squint and mentally sound out each syllable. She’d rather starve.

By the time the aeroplane comes back to her and Cleves, it’s badly crumpled, not least due to Anne and Kitty’s attempts to make a fortune teller out of it- but Jane is still none the wiser as to what to say.

(She supposes she’ll end up ordering what Anna orders and she’ll hate it, she knows she will, because Anna always orders something really spicy and she’s  _ hungry _ , she doesn’t want to have to lie  _ again  _ about not wanting dinner-)

She’s so caught up in her own thoughts, she barely registers that Cleves is watching her. Her expression is thoughtful for a moment, before she snaps back and scours the page.

‘Hm…. the…. I can’t even say it… the trout thing? With the broccoli. Look, here-’ Anna leans over and points to what she wants. 

Anne wrinkles her nose.

‘I didn’t think it seemed like your sort of thing. Looks kinda plain.’

Well you know’ Cleves shrugs, nonchalantly. ‘Felt like a change.’

‘I didn’t even think you liked fish’ adds Parr helpfully, and Cleves scowls at her.

‘I don’t often eat fish but maybe I felt like it tonight, ok?’

‘Fine’ Anne capitulates and gives the order to the deliverer. ‘Jane?’

‘I’ll have the same please.’ She feels weak with relief and- oddly enough- a bit happy. Unlike Cleves (who really doesn’t like fish, now she comes to think of it) trout is her favourite.

She thinks that for once she might really enjoy her dinner.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for the lovely reviews! They make my day :)

he does enjoy the trout (although she also notices that Cleves, for once, does not finish her own food) but it’s still hard to sleep later that night, and so she’s still awake when there’s a knock.

‘Yes?’

‘I saw your light on…’ Anna pushes the door open but hovers on the threshold. ‘Can I come in?’

Jane nods, even though is all new territory, uncertain territory. They live together but socialising still mostly takes place in the communal kitchen, the shared living room- they’re all slightly wary of one another, the ghosts of old scars and old resentments lingering and unacknowledged. 

She hasn’t sought out any of the queens in their own rooms yet, other than to call them for dinner, (it feels too intimate) and they haven’t really come to hers either.

For the most part.

The exception is Kitty, who has several times turned up at her door after everyone has gone to bed to ask if she’s left something or other in Jane’s room since she _ can’t find it anywhere. _

If the voice of the youngest queen is a trifle shaky when she makes her request, Jane does not bring it up, and she doesn’t question Kitty’s need for her hair straighteners, her body glitter, her running shoes, at gone 11pm either, nor mention that since Kitty only ever comes to her room to look for things, it’s unlikely she’ll find anything of her own there.

She does however make sure to offer to help Kitty search her own room again ‘in case she’s missed it’. 

(Walking down the landing with the girl trailing at her side, she sometimes has to fight a bit against the urge to do more- to take her hand, to wrap an arm around her thin shoulders. She never does, of course.)

Once they’ve both given up- which never takes long, she’s taken to waiting until Kitty is safely under the covers before she leaves. 

That she always leaves the door ajar, the landing light turned on, is coincidence and no one can prove otherwise.

(She sometimes wonders if they’ll ever get to the point where she’ll be able to offer the girl a hug, if Kitty will ever feel confident to come to her for comfort without the need for fabrication: will she ever be bold enough just to ask if Kitty is alright, rather than enquiring about whether she thought to check under her bed?)

(She hopes they will. One day)

Other than Kitty’s visits though, her room has been pretty much sacrosanct. She’s privately curious about the rooms of the other queens (god knows what Boleyn has done to hers) and she can see Anna eyeing her things, her clothes, the cushions on the chair, the framed pictures on the walls, with interest. Clearly, the feeling is shared.

‘It’s nice-’ She moves closer to the nearest frame, squinting at the birds of paradise fanning their tails in intricate patterns. ‘This is lovely’

‘Thank you- it took me  _ such _ a long time.’

‘You...made this?’

‘Yes’

‘You  _ sewed _ this?’

Anna’s wide eyed approbation is a little embarrassing.

‘I like embroidery. Always-’ she flushes slightly: referring to her past life sometimes feels almost shameful, like she’s showing off how easy things were for her by making reference to the fact that she spent her time as queen pursuing quiet hobbies and accepting congratulations on her pregnancy, rather than in frantic prayer or enforced seclusion.

(She wonders if it’s divine justice that the tables are being turned on her now, if her struggles are something she has inadvertently stored up for herself via an unwitting life of leisure.)

‘They said you were good but never-’ Anna tips her head. ‘That you were… you know.  _ That _ good.’

Jane smiles. ‘That’s kind of you. I’m so glad it’s something I can still do here.’

‘Yeah. Harder to go hawking in Ealing. Unfortunately.’ Anna grins ruefully. ‘I like that we all got to come back with our same tastes and skills and stuff though. Even if it’s sometimes a bit inconvenient.’ She pauses. ‘I always liked riding, myself- especially at court. Felt such a relief it was something I could do that didn’t require language.’

She’s wondered to herself sometimes if it was difficult for Cleves, coming all the way from Germany, mostly alone, in much the same way that she’s wondered how Aragon coped without Mary or if Cathy was afraid to marry a man who’d already killed two of his wives…. but she’s never thought of actually  _ asking _ any of them. It feels far too personal, too intimate.

Anna though doesn’t appear to be remotely self conscious as she talks: ‘I couldn’t speak more than a few words of English when I arrived, you know. I felt like such an idiot half the time. Most of the time. I could never tell what people were saying, what they wanted; I felt like everyone was irritated with me because they had to keep repeating themselves and rewording things so I could understand. I mean obviously they couldn’t say much- not that I’d have understood if they did!- but you know how it is.’

She does- she might not be the most literate of women but she’s fluent in the wordless, secret language of resentment, of irritation.

‘It sounds like things were very hard for you.’

‘Yeah, it was a fun few months..’ Anna pulls a face. ‘It was mostly just exhausting.’

She nods- she knows how that feels. (She’s tired all the time now, and she knows it’s nothing to do with the show.)

‘Also-’ Anna looks thoughtful for a moment. ‘I think I made it a bit worse….just by being very hard on myself.’

‘What do you mean?’ She’d expected Anna to say it was because she’d been lazy- because she hadn’t tried hard enough to learn English as a child, because she hadn’t tried hard enough to learn on her own while at court.

(If only she’d tried harder at her lessons. If only she hadn’t be so stupidly, idiotically happy when she was allowed to stop practising her writing. If only she wasn’t so stupid now that no matter how much she tried to practise in private, her progress was stuck at zero. If only, if only, if only-)

‘Because on top of having to deal with other people being annoyed with me, I kept blaming myself. Rather than just accepting that they were being dicks and that it’s really hard to learn a whole new language from scratch, I kept thinking that there must be something wrong with me for not picking everything up more quickly.’

Cleves is looking at her intently. ‘I wish I could go back and tell my old self that I was doing the best I could. Also I wasn’t really honest, even with my German ladies, about how hard I was finding it all. I’d like to go back and tell myself that they would have been on my side.’

‘It-’ Her throat is thick. ‘It would have been hard to do though. To admit to being stupid-’ Suddenly she realises what she’s said- that it’s  _ Cleves _ they’re talking about, not her- and claps a hand over her mouth guiltily. ‘Oh- goodness- I’m sorry! I didn’t mean-’

(Now Cleves will hate her for sure, and she’ll have ruined everything, all beause she’s  _ stupid _ ,  _ she’s stupid _ ,  _ she _ -)

‘It’s ok.’ Cleves smile is very gentle; she doesn’t look upset in the least. ‘I mean, it’s what I thought too at the time. It wasn’t true though, obviously. Hardly my fault if no one had bothered to teach me English.’ She looks at Jane, waiting for her response. ‘Right?’

‘I- I suppose.’

‘It sucks that we don’t always know exactly what we need to know before we need it….but it’s how things are. I got through it.’

‘How?’

‘Practise, mostly. I eventually had to swallow my pride and ask one of my laides to actually properly teach me too- you can pick up a lot through just being around a language but sometimes you need actual help as well. And I stopped caring so much about what people thought- or at least I tried to. I kept reminding myself they could wait a minute for me to finish what I was trying to say, it wouldn’t kill them-’

‘And….it helped?’

‘Well sometimes. It was definitely healthier than me telling myself I was a total idiot every time I had to ask someone to speak more slowly. I mean, I also fantasized about setting my dogs on them if they kept rolling their eyes and huffing at me… but mostly the first thing. Definitely.’ Anna’s expression is so funny Jane can’t help but laugh and Anna laughs with her.

‘Most importantly, I just tried to be more patient with myself. It’s a lesson I’m trying to teach Kitty, actually. She’s hard on herself. We all are, really.’

Jane nods. She’s seen how Kitty looks whenever she makes a mistake in rehearsal- as if she wants to punish herself, and she’s seen Aragon pushing herself past the point of exhaustion so that the same thing never happens to her. 

She’s seen Parr’s light on well past midnight as the girl denies herself food and sleep in favour of work, she’s seen Anne forcing herself to remain perfectly still as the makeup artist brushes her scar by mistake and then quietly excuse herself, her face white and drawn. She’s even seen Anna suppress a flinch when they passed a child whinney-ing like a horse as they played in the street.

(She wonders what they see in her?)

‘She’s a sweet girl. She...deserved better.’ Making a reference to something so raw feels almost indecent, but Anna doesn’t look shocked.

‘I think we all did.’

When Jane swallows a yawn, they both reflexively glance at the clock and Anna gives a little start. ‘Oh my god, I’m sorry, I only meant to come in for a moment-’

‘No, it was...nice-’ She’s telling the truth. She feels surprisingly better. Lighter. 

_ Stop being so hard on yourself. _

‘Thanks for….telling me about your time at court. It was interesting.’

‘You’re welcome. Thanks for listening- I’d like to hear more about you too one day. If you’d like.’

‘That would be nice.’ Surprisingly, she means it.

Anna stands up to go and then pauses.

‘I just wanted to say… I know we’re all sort of getting used to things and getting used to each other and it’s all kind of uncomfortable still…. But you know we’re all….supporting each other right? Even if we’re still really awkward with each other….you know we’d all have your back?’

Jane manages a nod and Anna smiles. ‘That’s all I wanted to say. And if you ever….want to do this again? The talking, I mean? My….um, my door is always open.’ She pulls a face, ‘That sounded way less cheesy in my head….’

It breaks a moment of tension and Jane is able to relax enough to laugh.

‘Thanks. I would.’

Anna grins. ‘Thank god. It would have been super awkward if you’d said no.’

And with that, she shuts the door behind her.

(It’s unexpectedly easier to fall asleep after Anna leaves.)


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Anna very casually mentions that the library has free courses for people interested in brushing up various skills and announces her own intention to look into getting better at using the laptop that Cathy usually ends up having to ‘fix’ for her at least twice a day.

It gets a bit lost in the usual morning chaos- Anne hovering over the toaster as she toasts and retoasts her slice of bread til it’s almost black, while Cathy reels of statistics about carcinogens in food in between spoonfuls of strawberry yoghurt, Kitty sulking (due to lack of yoghurt) and giving vent to her feelings by washing up her cereal bowl with more force than necessary, Aragon reading out the ‘bible passage of the day’ from her phone and steadfastly ignoring the fact that no one is listening. 

Jane though, is sitting right beside Anna and so she can’t  _ help _ but here….and when Anna asks, a little later, if Jane fancies keeping her company when she goes in to inquire, it’s as if she’s only just thought of it, as if she isn’t really bothered about company one way or the other.

It’s only as they round the corner to the library building that Anna slows her step slightly.

‘They have all sorts of courses, you know. For anything. Anything you could want.’ She pauses. ‘Lots of language ones- english as well as, you know, french and spanish and stuff.’

‘For people who want to learn it?’

‘Or get better at it.’  _ Oh.  _ Now she sees what Anna is getting at.

‘And lots of them are in the morning too- I checked.’

‘Oh?’ She tries to match Anna’s nonchalant tone, unsuccessfully.

‘Yep. It wouldn’t clash with the show or anything.’

Despite herself, she feels a little flash of anger- anger at the way Anna has so obviously planned this, at the way she has almost taken the decision out of Jane’s hands, the way one would do for a stubborn child.  _ As if she didn’t feel stupid enough. _

‘Right.’

‘And there’s space, on most of them. I asked that too.’

It seems that Anna has been very busy, and it makes Jane feel slightly...uncomfortable to think of. Just how has Anna been phrasing herself- has she been enquiring as if on her own behalf?

Or has she been honest, perhaps thinking that it wouldn’t matter:  _ Hello, yes- sorry, I have a friend, an acquaintance really. She can barely read or write and I was wondering if you had any- Oh, she’s 28…. Yes, I know but still… _

It’s a conversation taking place entirely in Jane’s own head, she  _ knows _ that….but it makes her suddenly hot with embarrassment even so. She can’t bear the thought of being discussed like that, being pitied like that.

‘Well, that’s lucky for you.’ Her tone is sharper than she intended- she can see out of the corner of her eye, the way Anna almost twitches in surprise at the sting. ‘Are you going to be long? I do have things to do at home, actually.’

It’s not a nice feeling, making herself colder, brisker, brusquer than Anna has (ever) seen her before….but feeling like a child isn’t particularly pleasant either, and there’s a sort of hard satisfaction in dolling out the sort of impatience that she has to put up with every day onto someone else.

‘Um- not very long. You….should have said before.’

_ Let them see how they like it,  _ a voice in her head whispers- even as another part of her cries out that Anna isn’t  _ them, _ has never been  _ them _ , could never be  _ them. _

‘I think I’m just going to wait outside for you here, actually.’ She doesn’t look at Anna as she arranges herself on the low brick wall outside the squat, grey building. ‘You can go sort out your class thing.’

There’s dignity in refusing to enter, there’s dignity in refusing to allow herself to be manipulated like a child- it’s pathetic but it’s all she has- and the disappointment in Anna’s face is oddly pleasing.

‘I- I thought you might want to-’

‘Well I don’t.’ She almost spits it out. ‘Why don’t you just concern yourself with your own affairs, rather than trying to interfere with mine?’ 

_ I may not be able to read like you but that doesn’t mean you know what’s best for me. _

There’s a moment, as they look at each other- a moment in which Anna could apologise, in which Jane could apologise too, in which they could explain themselves….but it passes in an instant and then they’re just two people glaring at each other on a public street.

‘Fine. I was just trying to help, but fine. Whatever you want.’

Anna hesitates for a moment as if to say something else, and then goes inside. She’s out within ten minutes and they walk home in silence.

Jane is stiff from sitting on a (cold) wall, and she doesn’t feel quite as good as she did. 

(Now she just sort of wishes Anna would talk to her. Not that she will, of course. Not now that Jane has pushed her away and shown her clearly what she thinks of Anna’s attempts at kindness.)

When she eventually has to leave her room for dinner, she sneaks glances at the other girl between mouthfuls of lasagna.

She wonders if Anna hates her now, for her stubborn pride. Her  _ stupid _ pride- for that is what she is. Stupid. 

She wonders if Anna will tell the others, to even the balance between them. She may be (she is) an idiot but she knows how anger works- how one thing leads to another, angry thoughts nudging into angry actions to regret later.

Anna doesn’t knock on her door that night.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s hard to sleep and she feels headachey and sore in the morning- sore and pathetic.

She puts off going down to breakfast for as long as she can (although admittedly it’s only partly because she doesn’t want to have to face Anna. It’s also because Anne is making her thoughts on Kitty finishing the last of the Ricicles very known to everyone within a five mile radius. Usually, she’d go down to arbitrate but she doesn’t have the energy today).

When she eventually makes it downstairs, there’s only Aragon left, sipping coffee and perusing the newspaper (she feels a hungry little stab of jealousy at her nonchalance. She makes it look easy, she takes it for granted that she’ll understand everything written. Jane knows this isn’t uncommon- that really, the oddity is someone having to fight their way through every sentence, sounding out phonics and figuring out unfamiliar words through context, or guessing….but she still envies Aragon, personally, in that moment.)

‘Good morning.’ 

‘There’s coffee left if you want it and-’ Aragon gestures to the pot behind her, proffers the sections of the paper she’s finished with but Jane shakes her head.

Every morning, Aragon offers her the newspaper- out of habit, rather than malice, she’s sure- and every morning she refuses. Every morning, she feels the same little jolt of sickness that comes with having to lie and pretend she just isn’t in the mood to read- and suddenly, she’s angry with herself.

She’s angry with herself for putting up with it- why is she letting herself suffer through this in her own home, morning after morning, day after day? Why is she putting her own stupid, stubborn pride ahead of her own quality of life? 

The sudden rush of anger quenches her appetite so she puts the muesli back in the cuboard and tells Aragon she’s going to the library.

*

Of course, thinking and doing are different things and Jane’s righteous indgination only carries her about two thirds of the way into town before fizzling out and being replaced by gnawing doubt instead.

Once inside, it takes all of her courage to ask the smiley woman behind the desk about if they have anything for people wanting to get better at reading and writing English. She expects to have to field questions about why she’s even asking, since she’s clearly English herself- she’s waiting for the woman to look amused….but instead, she’s very matter of fact about it, handing Jane a couple of leaflets and telling her about the different courses they have.

(It’s a surprise that there’s more than one, that perhaps she isn’t the only person in the world with this problem, that perhaps she isn’t entirely alone.)

*

She doesn’t actually plan to tell anyone about the course- even Anna, they’re still not really talking much- but later that night, there’s a tap on her door again…. And when she hears Anna’s voice outside, she makes the split second decision not to hide the leaflet (with it’s embarassingly large text and simple wording) under her pillow.

‘Come in.’

‘Hey. I brought you some tea.’ Anna holds out one of the two mugs she’s holding- steaming hot, just a dash of milk, and (judging by how sweet it smells) three teaspoons of honey, just the way Jane likes it. 

It makes her feel so much worse.

‘Thank you.’ She’s trying to find the right words for what she wants to say but Anna gets there first.

‘Just wanted to say sorry. I promise I wasn’t trying to make you feel…. I don’t know, patronised or like I was trying to push you into anything….’ She fiddles with the teabag tag hanging over the rim of the mug. ‘And we don’t have to talk about- well, any of it anymore if you don’t want to.’

She looks anxious when Jane still doesn’t respond, as if she’s expecting another verbal lashing.

‘Jane?’

She struggling- it’s hard to find the right way to apologise to someone who is just so much  _ nicer  _ than you.

‘You….didn’t do anything wrong.’ She has to keep looking at the duvet because if she looks at Anna, she might cry and she really cannot take the humiliation of that on top of everything else right now. ‘You were very kind and I was...not. I’m sorry I took it out on you. It’s just….very hard, sometimes.’

There should be a longer speech, but she can’t think of anything else to add. She was never the best with expressing herself eloquently anyway- polite, yes, courteous, yes but not in a way that really said what she felt.

Anna doesn’t seem to mind though- there’s a little dip as she sits down on the bed.

‘That’s ok.’ It sounds as if she means it too. ‘I know how tiring….things can get.’

She risks a peek up at the other woman and Anna’s smiling at her- it makes it easier to breath.

‘Thanks.’

There’s a moment in which she could say more...but she doesn’t. The conversation moves on- Anna starts asking her about the costume designs they’ve been sent and what she thinks- and it’s easier to not think of anything difficult.

She almost forgets that the leaflet is still sitting on her bedside table- then, she see Anna’s eyes flick towards it and then back to her. 

She doesn’t comment on it, but her eyes soften into a smile that Jane just about finds herself able to return, and when she asks Jane if she minds her tagging along with her to the library the next Wednesday morning, it’s hardly a surprise. 

(It’s still nice though.)

She holds the thought of Anna’s kindness close to herself as she clenches her fists and walks herself into the unfamiliar room, makes herself sit down at the table. There are other people there but she can’t meet anyone’s eyes-  _ if she doesn’t look at them, they won’t see her _ \- even as she gives her name. 

She’s so tense that her back starts to ache after a few minutes….but it’s heartening, after the introductions are done, that she doesn’t seem to be the worst-off there. 

When she eventually risks a quick glance around the room under the guise of gathering up her things, she’s not sure what she’s expecting to see- adults dressed in fools motley, perhaps? But they look just like any group of people, gathered together- all pleasingly different. 

(There is nothing, other than their presence, that would mark them out as  _ different _ . One man- his hair coiled like ropes- hefts a guitar case onto his back. A woman pulls a vibrating phone from her pocket and tells someone she’s on her way.)

When they meet up to walk home together, Anna thankfully doesn’t ask her a lot of questions, but she offers her a wine gum from the bag she’s holding (Jane’s favorite) and the walk passes in peaceful deliciousness as the bag passes between them.

By the time they’re on the doorstep, there’s only one left, and Anna pushes the bag into Jane’s hands.

‘You have it- I don’t like the red ones that much anyway.’

She’s about to protest, a reflexive habit from the lifetime of being taught to  _ put others first _ …. but then she doesn’t, and Cleves smiles as she pops it into her mouth.

(She looks so pleased that it occurs to Jane, not for the first time, that perhaps refusing kindness  _ isn’t _ always the best thing.)

Anna is digging for her keys- she’s about to open the door when Jane puts her hand on her arm.

‘Anna?’

‘Hm?’

‘.....thank you.’ 

They both know that she isn’t talking about sweets.


End file.
